The sheriff could endure the suspense no longer.  Signaling to him two of his men, he, with a blow of a stick of wood, broke in the window-sash.  As, immediately afterward, he tore aside the curtain, he and his assistance presented pistols and shouted: 

“Surrender!”

No one was visible, and the sheriff only concealed his sheepish feelings by jumping into the room.  His assistants followed him, and they searched the entire house without finding any one.

They searched the cellar, the outhouses, and the barn, but encountered only the inquiring glances of the horses and cattle.  Then they searched the house anew, hoping to find proof of the guilt of Matalette and his family; but, excepting holes in the floor of a vacant room, they found nothing which might not be expected in a comfortable home.

Suddenly some one thought of the boats which Matalette kept at the mouth of the creek, and a detachment, headed by the sheriff, went hastily down to examine them.

The boats were gone—­not even the tiniest canoe or most dilapidated skiff remained.  It is grievous to relate—­but truth is truth—­that the sheriff, who was on Sundays a Sabbath-school superintendent, now lost his temper and swore frightfully.  But no boats were conjured up by the sheriff’s language, nor did his assistance succeed in finding any up the creek; so the party returned to the house, and resorted to the illegal measure of helping themselves liberally to the contents of Matalette’s sideboard.

Meanwhile a black mass, floating down the Wabash, about a dozen miles below the Bonpas’s mouth, seemed the cause of some mysterious plunging and splashing in the river.  Finally an aperture appeared in the black mass, and the light streamed out.  Then the figure of a man appeared in the aperture, and all was dark again.

As the figure disappeared within the mass, three bearded men, dressed like emigrants, looked up furtively, one yellow-haired man stared vacantly and sadly into the fire which illumed the cabin of the little trading boat, while Helen Matalette sprang forward and threw her arms about the figure’s neck.

“It’s all gone, Nell,” said the man.  “Presses and plates are where nobody will be likely to find them.  The Wabash won’t tell secrets.”

“I’m so glad—­oh, so glad!” cried the girl.

“It’s a fortune thrown away,” said one of the men, moodily.

“Yes, and a bad name, too,” said she, with flashing eyes.

“We’re beggars for life, anyhow,” growled another of the men.

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Matalette.  “Nell’s right—­if we’re not tracked and caught, I’ll never be sorry that we sunk the accursed business for ever.  And, considering our narrow escape, and how it happened, I don’t think we’re very gentlemanly to sit here bemoaning our luck.  Mr. Crewne,” continued Matalette, crossing to the yellow-haired figure in front of the fire, “you’ve saved me—­what can I give you?”